Guattari’s idea is both refreshing and profound. He suggests that when a person experiences psychosis, her psychosis changes according to her surroundings, and, therefore, treating her with fear by locking her up, keeping her in restraints, overmedicating her, and exposing her to other methods of suppression only serves to change her psychosis to a psychosis of fear and paranoia. Who, psychotic or not, in the same situation wouldn’t also feel terror and paranoia? Indeed, there is a legitimate reason to be paranoid and afraid. Further, the shock of being treated inhumanly, the sense of alienation and of betrayal, and, perhaps paramountly, the realization that humans can and do treat other humans in this way, is itself shocking and traumatizing. It is a shock and trauma that alters the psyche, changing the personality of the person who undergoes it.
Cynthia Cruz, Disquieting: Essays on Silence
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cynthia cruz the glimmering room: “diagnosis” (via @virginiewoolf) \\ jennifer s. cheng so we must meet apart: “august 24, 2018″ (via @feral-ballad) \\ safia elhillo girls that never die: poems: “summer” (via @virginiewoolf)
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Late Night Frequencies
by Cynthia Cruz
You are a car, you are
a hospital,
warm lights
at the edge
of a deathless
highway.
You are a truck
stop, a star.
You are water,
an engine
pulled out
from a car
and laid out
on a mountaintop
in a heatwave
in the middle of summer.
Compression, you are
death, benevolence
the blue of the moon
hovering over
the forest.
A child
fevered and loved
down to essence,
a silvery cream-
like substance.
Rabbits and endless
land.
A gun,
loaded.
You are a town
in the south,
abandoned.
You are sweet
coma,
the godly
swamp
of overdose.
A boy on silver
motorbike
racing through
the locked
wooden closets
of his childhood.
A girl,
in a yellow dress
walking through a field,
humming. You are
a strong god-like
substance
administered
by the nurse’s
sweet hand.
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I wanted to be something
else. Myself, but better. Wild,
and not-yet, a burn, maybe
as it is occurring.
— Cynthia Cruz, from “Fragment,” Hotel Oblivion
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I feel like each line can be its own universe and own poem, and each stanza too. I’m also very precise about the last word of each line, so I’m using enjambment intentionally and trying to tutor the reader to slow down.
Cynthia Cruz, from “Back Draft: Cynthia Cruz”, Interview with Ben Purkert, Guernica Magazine, August 23, 2018
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The shame of being seen consumes me.
~Cynthia Cruz
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the sparrow, mary doria russell / “diagnosis,” the glimmering room, cynthia cruz
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It seems to me that much of the misery we call and treat as depression today could be understood as melancholia. We may be experiencing a sense of melancholia in response to what we have lost in terms of the conversation surrounding our inner lives. Run by the pharmaceutical industry and insurance companies, most mental health treatment in the U.S. consists of short sessions of often short-term, often cognitive therapy and medication with the precise goal of returning the patient to efficient productivity. We have lost holistic treatment, and instead focus on managing the patient’s symptoms rather than finding their causes. [...] These messages that we are unfit, that our symptoms need to be eradicated rather than listened to, inform our emotional and psychic life — they contribute to our depression.
Cynthia Cruz, Disquieting
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Freud writes that mourning and melancholia share the same features: a “profoundly painful depression, a loss of interest in the outside world, the loss of the ability to love, the inhibition of any kind of performance.” In both melancholia and mourning, the sufferer grieves the loss of a loved object.
Cynthia Cruz, from 'The Melancholia of Class'
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Hotel Letters
But strangeness
was always a part of the story.
A rip in the frame, an ink stain
or mar. Always, I was
almost, or maybe.
The endless hope of possibility.
woEn route to the agency, or the dealer’s
I stopped by Adam’s and begged him.
Please, I said, help me.
You are, he said, the most beautiful.
But, also, stupid, and wild,
part animal. Near the Pacific, after classes,
in the late afternoon.
Without words and filled, entirely
with music. Later, I spent years
looking, but never finding,
what it was he said
was good and worthwhile inside me.
--Cynthia Cruz
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Dark Register
by Cynthia Cruz
If you leave,
he said,
keep who you are.
Don’t let the world
and its desires
ruin you.
But after the dream
comes the habit.
And no way to fix it.
What is gone
cannot be put back.
Damage
from the inside.
What I have become
is warmed over
with that now
ancient dream.
What I was
is vanished.
I came back home
but I came back
gone.
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I have begun documenting
everything for an art project or maybe
something smaller, and darker.
Truth is the antidote
for shame and shame
is what I carry with me
everywhere.
— Cynthia Cruz, from “Fragment: Verwüstung,” Hotel Oblivion
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